Murder at the Players Club
by JanSuch
Summary: Prequel to the series. It's New Year's Eve 1892 in New York, and Nikola is about to attend a special event at the Player's Club with his friend Sam Clemens.
1. Chapter 1

Nikola Tesla finished tying his white bow tie in front of the mirror, making sure it was exactly even and straight. He put on his black evening coat, his white shirt cuffs showing precisely a quarter of an inch. One last smooth down of his hair and mustache, and he was ready.

He picked up his overcoat and took the elevator down to the lobby of the Hotel Gerlach. He had recently moved from the Astor House to the more up-to-date hotel that was only a few blocks from the new Madison Square Garden with its shops, theaters, and restaurants. He was in a very good mood, recently returned from Europe where he had been elected to the Royal Society of Great Britain.

Nikola waited in the lobby for his friend Sam Clemens to arrive with the carriage. Tonight was going to be very special. They were on their way to the Player's Club to see once-President and President-elect again Grover Cleveland deliver a speech in honor of the club's founder, Edwin Booth. They were both members of the club, and everyone who was anyone in New York would be there.

Well, probably all eight hundred members of the club anyway. While Nikola greatly enjoyed conversation with an intelligent woman, sometimes it was nice to have a boy's night out with male companions. Ah, there was the carriage now.

He slipped on his coat. It was December 31, 1892, and there was a cold rain and high wind. In spite of being mostly impervious to the cold, Nikola always tried to blend in. No one on this side of the Atlantic knew his true nature and he felt he was much safer that way.

As he hurried out to the carriage, Tesla reminded himself to address his friend as Mark tonight, not Sam. After all, the writings of Mark Twain were what had made his friend a founding member of the Player's Club and he was always called Mark there.

"Good evening, Mark," he said as he got in the carriage. "Will you be in New York long?" Twain and his family were currently living abroad to save money, but he was back on a visit.

"Tesla! Haven't seen you in a while, congratulations on the Royal Society." Twain handed Nikola one of his stogies and they both lit up. The vampire smoked on occasion, mostly because it was part of male bonding.

"They were kind to me," Nikola said, trying to sound humble. "Anything new coming out?"

Twain snorted at Tesla's self-deprecating statement. That was one thing Nikola liked about him; he always made it clear he thought the inventor had no need to be humble. "I've got a few things in the works. How long do you think the big man will talk tonight? I hope he doesn't ramble on for hours."

Nikola nodded in agreement and they caught up on each other's work for a few minutes until they arrived at no. 16, Gramercy Park. They never discussed finances; both had hit highs and lows during the years of their friendship. By tacit agreement one might pay for both on their outings for a year and then silently switch as fortunes changed; but tonight involved nothing but good fellowship and honoring the founder of the club on its five year anniversary.

Nikola had a second agenda as well. Meeting wealthy men as a social equal and maintaining their awareness of his work was a good policy for times when he needed money. A night at the club was an investment for his future needs, and especially tonight when he was sure every member currently in the city would attend.

Of course he would never ask for money in a social situation, it would be crass and unmannerly. Nor would he mention his work unless asked. However, he was always asked. Tesla's next invention could point to future huge profits and losses just as men had made millions in copper when it suddenly became needed for electric wires.

There were a great many carriages arriving, and they waited in line to exit until they were before the door. Then they made the same dash as everyone else, arriving inside the huge mansion a bit damp. They handed off their coats, snagged drinks, and headed up the mahogany stairs to the main rooms where most people were drifting.

They had time to mingle. Cleveland was scheduled to speak at midnight, and it wasn't even eleven yet. The President-elect and a few select members were dining now in the Grill Room, while the other members arrived. Nikola sipped his whiskey. He preferred wine, but at the Player's Club hard liquor was what a man drank, although there would likely be champagne later to toast Booth. He didn't mind too much, it was very good whiskey. He and Twain split up, and Nikola found himself in a mixed group of industrialists, artists, and actors discussing Cleveland's opposition to the Sherman Act and preference for the gold standard and what it would mean for the economy. Bo-ring.

Tesla listened politely for a few minutes and then moved on. Mark had located the hors d'oeuvres and was filling a plate. Nikola was quickly buttonholed by a pair of bankers who wanted to know what he was working on. Nikola didn't care much for bankers; they had money but always wanted back whatever they gave plus interest. Still, they knew a lot of wealthy men. He had just started to explain his current work when there was a loud bang that sounded very much like a gun. Conversation halted.

An excited man appeared in the doorway and called, "Does anyone speak Russian? Anyone?"

Nicola hesitated. He was fluent in Serbian, Croatian, and Czech, and he could manage in Russian, but perhaps someone else . . . no, no one stepped forward so he raised his hand and said, "I can, a bit. What do you need?"

The man gestured urgently. "This way, quickly, there isn't much time!"

Nikola set his drink on a table as he hurried to the man's side, but got no explanation as he was tugged down a hall into a side room. The vampire knew before he entered someone was badly wounded, he could smell the blood. Tesla took firm control over his fangs that wanted to extend at that enticing scent.

The man on the floor was dressed in formal evening clothes and lying in a pool of his own blood. Nikola didn't recognize him. He was still alive, struggling to breathe with a chest wound. Tesla crouched down and then knelt carefully, trying not to stain his most expensive suit. The man was whispering something and Nikola put his ear to his mouth to hear.

He was startled to hear, "Tesla?" He replied, "Da."

The dying man then spoke to him in English! "Tell . . . white rose bud . . . it's Wexford, three others . . . waiters . . . Cleveland." There was a long exhalation in his ear; the man was dead.

Nikola sat back and stared at the body, his mind working furiously. What was that all about? There were three other men in the room all looking at him and waiting for an explanation.

Tesla didn't understand what he had just heard, but he knew one thing. The man had faked speaking only Russian to reach him specifically. What he had said had been a message for his ears only.

"Um, he just wanted me to pass a message to his family, that he loved them, and, ah, that he had some money hidden in a specific place in his house. Does anyone know who he was?"

One of the other men knelt on the other side of the body and began searching it. Nikola recognized him as a member of the club security staff and made no objection. But aside from a little money, a small comb, and a handkerchief, the dead man's pockets were empty.

"We'd best fetch the police," the security man said. A second man in the room nodded and left. The security man turned to Nikola and said, "Thank you, Mister Tesla, as you can see there's nothing more to be done here. You will be contacted when he is identified so his message can be passed to his family."

Nikola understood he'd been dismissed and left. He looked himself over in the hall and found just a tiny smear of blood near his left knee, and took a moment in a washroom to clean it as well as he could. At least it didn't show much on his black suit.

Tesla picked up a new drink from a passing waiter, and looked at the man carefully for a change. But he just appeared to be a waiter, nothing else. Nikola was disturbed by the cloak-and-dagger aspect of what he had been told. Who was Wexford, and who or what was white rose bud? Not a name, surely—a way of identifying someone? There were a few men wearing boutonnieres, so perhaps . . . he began scanning the room.

Twain rejoined him. "So?"

Nikola just shook his head. "Man wanted to pass on something to his family before he died." He would have welcomed help figuring out what it all meant, but he wasn't sure the little he knew wasn't dangerous. The dying man had deceived everyone around him and whispered his information, and there had to be an important reason for that. Twain could handle himself, but Nikola didn't want to endanger his friend.

"Staff?"

Nikola replied, "He wasn't dressed as staff," while he continued to look, moving a little through the crowd.

"We don't have any Russian members. Who shot him and why?"

"No idea. It's a mystery. Maybe you can get a story out of it."

Mark thought for a moment, but then shook his head. "Too unbelievable, and what sort of explanation could I invent?"

Nikola shrugged. "I see someone I need to talk to." He moved off. He intended to get through all the rooms and find a white rose bud. The sooner he was done with this the better. He had plans for a long, jolly evening, and wasn't at all interested in whatever else was going on.

But Twain tagged along after him. The writer could see there was more to it than Tesla was saying by the change in his friend's behavior. When Nikola stopped and scanned the next room, Mark asked, "What are you looking for, Nikola? Maybe I can help."

The tall inventor took his eyes off of the crowd and turned to Twain. "All right, this is going to take all night by myself. I'm looking for a white rose bud, and don't ask, I won't tell you. If you spot one, don't let on to anyone but me."

Twain's eyes lit up. He loved adventure and something was definitely going on. First he would find the white rose bud and then work on Tesla for the rest of the story. Nikola went right and Mark went left through the room, meeting up on the far side.

"Anything?" Nikola asked. Twain shook his head, and they checked the staircase which was filling up, younger members perching on the bannister, but saw no rose buds of any color. They worked their way into the main room. There were nearly three hundred men there beginning to gather for the speech.

Almost at once Nikola spotted a white rose bud boutonniere across the room, and Twain pointed out a second. But they found no others. One was a middle-aged man, average height, slightly paunchy, dark-haired with a small mustache and goatee. The other was younger, about the same height, slimly built with reddish-brown shoulder-length hair tied back and a large mustache.

Tesla turned to his friend. Mark Twain was a student of human nature and much better at making deductions about strangers than Nikola.

"I don't know exactly what you're looking for, but you likely want the older man, Nikola. Diamond ring and stick pin, air of command means he's wealthy and powerful. If you have a problem to dump, dump on him, he'll handle it. The other is likely one of Booth's actors or maybe an artist—not a lot of money, a little uncomfortable in society, the hair to show he's artistic or a rebel or just different from his father."

Nikola nodded. Twain was probably right. There was something familiar about the younger fellow, though. Had he seen him on the stage, perhaps? Forty percent of the Player's Club membership were actors, so that was likely it. Tesla started moving toward the older man.

It was difficult keeping an eye on his target while wending through the press of men all dressed very similarly. Nikola thought he was close when the younger reddish-haired fellow stepped in front of him. Tesla began to go around him, but glanced at his face and was stopped by a very familiar pair of blue eyes.

The fellow said nothing, but just jerked his head to the side in a "follow me" gesture. Nikola followed, out of the room and to the deserted library. He made sure the door was closed behind him and the room was empty before he said, "Do you have no respect for tradition? Women are absolutely not allowed in the Player's Club, Helen Magus! Or is it Mrs. Druitt?"


	2. Chapter 2

Helen said, "Not true, actually. Women are permitted for two hours every April twenty-third, Shakespeare's birthday. And it is Magnus, John and I have broken it off."

Nikola almost smiled at that revelation, but controlled himself. He shouldn't look happy at her loss, but he was really quite pleased she had finally come to her senses about John. "Sorry about your engagement," he managed, but then went back to indignation at her presence. "What are you doing in New York, and why on earth sneak into the Player's Club? And what did you do to your hair?"

"It's a long story, and my hair is none of your business. I heard about a man being shot here and speaking Russian to you. Who was it? What did he say?"

"Yes, but the Russian was a ruse. I'm sorry, he was badly wounded and died. He carried no identification, but gave me a message for white rose bud. I'm assuming that's you. Was he one of your people?"

From the look of grief that flitted across her face, Nikola knew the answer before she said it. "His name was Ned Collier, and yes, he was a friend and a trusted colleague at my Sanctuary in London. He was a superb operative, and he will be sorely missed. What did he say?"

"Not much, he had only seconds." Nikola paused, gathering his thoughts. He wanted to repeat the message verbatim since he didn't really know what part might be important. "It's Wexford, three others, waiters, Cleveland. Is there time for an explanation?"

"Yes, I don't believe anything will happen until much later when everyone else is drunk and making their escape will be easier. It's an assassination plot, Nikola. During Cleveland's first term he found and cancelled eighty million acres of falsified land grants. Wexford had a very large one in the Pacific Northwest and planned to be a lumber baron and big game hunter there. He's a member of this club and Cleveland coming here is a rare opportunity."

"So he hates Cleveland, but what's the point of killing him now?"

"During Harrison's term, Wexford managed to work one of his corrupt cronies back into the government. He's due to take a position where he can reinstate Wexford's grant. If Cleveland dies, Stevenson becomes President and he won't have the faintest idea what kind of dealings are going on at the lower levels of government, and even if told he would need proof that I'm sure Wexford has ensured will not exist, not this time. The Vice President-elect is not a bad man, but he's not the crusader Cleveland is, and he hasn't had Cleveland's experience with the issue."

"Got it. Wexford and three henchmen disguised as waiters are going to kill Cleveland. But as much as I'm pleased to see you again, Helen, you haven't explained what any of this has to do with you."

"The territory Wexford is illegally claiming hosts a number of abnormal species. One of them is a creature the natives call a Sasquatch. It's big, hairy, very human-like and intelligent. They're peaceful, Nikola, until someone with a rifle starts killing them. Then they figuratively turn into something like a charging bull elephant. Fred Wexford has a large male he's had stuffed and keeps in a private part of his house. It's absolutely disgusting, and I cannot allow him free access to their home range. There are other creatures there too, and he intends to simply slaughter them for fun."

"Ah. And how long have you known about this?"

"About his plans to murder intelligent beings, quite a while but I thought him thwarted. I suspected Wexford's plot to get back his grant for a while, but I didn't know about the assassination plot until recently, and I still don't have any proof, Nikola. Collier volunteered to try to work his way into Wexford's organization, or at least befriend several of them to find out what he was going to do and when. When Cleveland won the election, he overheard assassination being discussed and telegraphed me. I took ship, believing Wexford wouldn't wait long. I suspected this night could be pivotal when I heard of it, and now I'm sure. They wouldn't have killed Ned if they weren't going to act tonight."

"And you primed your man with a way to contact me if he couldn't get to you."

"I did. He couldn't very well send someone to fetch Magnus when there's no member by that name and I had doubts about my disguise holding up if I became the center of attention."

Nikola nodded; it made sense. "How many operatives do you have here to help you?"

Helen met his eyes. "One, I hope, but he's very special."

"You're here alone? Have you lost your mind?"

She shook her head. "I didn't come to America alone, but Telmann is ill back at the hotel, vomiting profusely last I saw. O'Rourke is in jail, charged with brawling. Actually, he probably started it, but he hasn't seen the judge yet so I haven't been able to bail him out. And there was Collier . . . I'm not a fool, you know."

She looked so dejected Nikola couldn't help but try to console her. He made a half-abortive attempt to hold out his arms for a hug, not sure how she would receive the gesture. Helen hesitated but then moved into his arms, and hugged him loosely and he did the same. It only lasted a few seconds before she stepped back, but it was more than he had hoped for.

"So it's just you and me," he said. "What do we do?"

"We can't move against Wexford until he acts, but a few waiters more or less won't be noticed."

"Do you know which ones they are?"

She shook her head. "Ned was supposed to identify them, but I have some clues."

"Alright. I'll stay by Cleveland and try to be in the way if anyone tries to shoot him, while you figure out who the agents are among the staff."

Helen nodded. "Good. But don't forget these men are posing as waiters, and they have access to food and drink as well as possibly being armed."

"Poison?" Nikola looked thoughtful. "Doable, I suppose, but it would be tricky in this crowd. Everything on the buffets should be safe, but it would be possible to deliver something adulterated directly to Cleveland with a little care."

The house had gotten quiet, the background buzz of conversation dying out. She said, "Cleveland is starting his speech. Protect the President-elect while I find out which waiters were hired specifically for this event."

"I'll do my best, but controlling what a three hundred pound man consumes is not going to be easy, especially in public. I do have to be careful about my reputation, you know."

"You're a genius, right? You'll figure it out."

Nikola muttered, "Not exactly the same skill set as changing the world," as they left the library. They parted in the hallway, Helen heading downstairs to find the club manager while Nikola worked his way as close to the main room as he could.

The speech was short, interrupted once for applause, with a great burst of acclaim at the end as the club's clock struck midnight. Nikola waited a little impatiently; he couldn't move any closer until the ritual toast to the founder out of one massive three-handled silver cup was completed. Every member would be expected to drink from it, and nothing else would happen until it had made its rounds.

Once he'd drunk and passed the cup on, Nikola was able to move forward into the main room. Men were exiting, preparing to leave or move their partying to another part of the house. Booth had already left, very likely using the elevator to return to his apartment upstairs, and Cleveland was in conversation with several industrialists.

Waiters were beginning to circulate again, and Nikola could only eye them suspiciously while sidling into the circle around Cleveland. The big man was just ending a racy story and everyone laughed appreciatively.

Helen finally located Walter Oettel, the club headwaiter, as he was collecting the huge silver cup from the last drinker. She walked along with him, passing herself off as an actor researching a role as a butler.

"And what sort of questions do you ask temporary staff before you hire them?"

"Experience and references, of course. Many of our waiters tonight come from an agency, but we hire a number of free-lancers due to personnel shortages every New Year's Eve. This is pertinent to your part?"

Lying about experience and establishing fake references would be simple. "Oh yes, it's a very complicated mystery so every detail must track. Could you point out the free-lancers? I'd like to study their movements."

The headwaiter allowed her to follow him into the kitchen and he pointed out five men as they hurried in and out. She noticed one dark-haired burly fellow was struggling to balance his tray of drinks, using two hands while the regular staff managed easily with one. Helen followed him, and caught him in a hurried conversation in the hall with another of the free-lance waiters.

She assumed they were two of Wexford's men, and followed the second, a thin blond fellow back into the kitchen. Helen wished she could alert Nikola somehow to the heavy-set man, but she couldn't be in two places at once; she had to trust the vampire to handle his end.

The blond man dropped off his tray on a counter where empty trays were being wiped down and reloaded, and went out the back door. She worked her way across the room and checked outside. He hadn't gone far; he was a few feet away smoking.

He hadn't noticed her yet so she eased back inside, quietly closed the door, and waited. It wasn't long before the burly fellow blew back into the kitchen without his tray and went directly out the back door. Good, two at once, she wasn't going to risk losing the opportunity while waiting for the third. She followed him outside.

The second man had lit up and the two waiters were having a serious conversation. Helen caught a snatch of it.

"How soon? My feet are killing me, and those trays are heavy."

"Not yet, Wexford said . . ." They noticed her then and stopped. Helen produced a small gun and advanced on them.

"Gentlemen, and I use the term loosely, your employment tonight is at an end. Do you know what the penalty is for assassinating a President? Of course you do, and I assure you if Wexford's plot succeeds, you will be just as guilty as the one who actually does the killing and suffer the same punishment."

The blond man spoke. "Hey now, young sir, I don't know what you're talking about. We're just getting a smoke, we haven't done anything wrong."

"Don't bother bluffing, I know everything. Fortunately for you I'm in something of a hurry, I don't have time to call the police and have you arrested. So you have a choice. I can shoot you where you stand and likely be hailed a hero tomorrow, or you can take off right now and not come back. You have five seconds to decide. One . . . two . . ."

The burly man protested, "You can't do this . . ."

"Three . . ."

"Come on," the blond man said, and grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him away.

"Four . . ."

"My coat," whined the burly man as they trotted off down the street. "Get it tomorrow when there isn't a crazy man with a gun around," the other replied.

Helen called after them, "If I see you again, it will be on your way to the morgue!" She watched them go, relieved she'd been able to bluff them into running away. It would have been quite awkward if she had had to call the police since she had absolutely no proof the two were guilty of anything. Satisfied, she went back into the kitchen.

She watched the remaining three free-lance waiters carefully, but they all seemed competent and experienced to her. One of them was a danger to Cleveland, but she couldn't tell which one.

Finally she took a chance- she had one in three odds. One of the free-lancers, a flabby middle-aged man, barreled into the kitchen and she moved forward decisively and tripped him. He landed flat on the floor, his empty tray skittering across it with a clatter. She bent over as if to help him up and whispered in his ear.

"I know why you're here and about Wexford."

That was as far as she got. The waiter sprang up with surprising energy and turned on her angrily. "I have no idea what you're muttering about; you are in the way and you're not supposed to be in here. Let me assist you back to the guest area."

He took Helen firmly by the elbow and half dragged her out into the hall. He snagged a glass of champagne off of a passing tray and pushed it into her hand. "There you are sir, the party is upstairs. Do you need assistance?"

She shook her head and moved slowly down the hall away from the kitchen while he glared after her. Maybe he wasn't one of Wexford's men, or maybe he was just a very good actor, she couldn't tell which. In any case, she needed a new base of operations; she wasn't going to be able to hang around the kitchen any more.

Helen went upstairs to the main room, looking for Cleveland and Nikola. She arrived just in time to see Cleveland take champagne from a short thin waiter who presented just the one glass on an otherwise empty tray.

She was too far away to do anything, but Nikola wasn't. He snatched the glass from the startled President-elect, looked around quickly but didn't see any place to get rid of it. With a shrug he drank it.

Cleveland and a number of men were staring at the inventor. Nikola noticed, and pretended to be drunk. "Oh, was that yours?" he said vaguely. "Sorry, I'll get you another." He staggered slightly as he went to a buffet and quickly poured two glasses, looking around to see if anyone else was approaching Cleveland, and spotted Helen. They exchanged nods, and Nikola hurried to resume his place next to the big man while Helen started watching waiters and looking for Wexford.


	3. Chapter 3

It didn't take long for Helen to find Fred Wexford. He was only a couple of groups away from Cleveland. She saw him glare briefly at Nikola as her friend went back to the President-elect with two glasses of champagne. Nikola didn't notice him, and she realized Tesla didn't know what Wexford looked like.

Helen moved toward the group around Cleveland, but someone took her arm. She turned to find two actors grinning at her drunkenly.

"Hey, Charlie! Saw you last week in that play, what was it?" one of them said.

Helen freed her arm and replied, "Sorry, you've mistaken me for someone else."

The second actor was between her and Nikola's group. He gave her an offended look and added, "Don't be a snob and pretend you don't know us just because you got a standing ovation, Charlie."

"Yeah, be a pal. Can you get us into the show? Even little itty bitty parts?"

Helen said tersely, "Sorry, I don't have time for this." She took a half-full glass from one of them and dropped it at their feet. Startled, they both stepped back to avoid the shattered glass and splattered champagne, and she slipped around them.

But Cleveland wasn't standing near the mantle where he'd been before, and she didn't see Nikola or Wexford either. Helen quickly scanned the room and saw the three men near the door to the hall in intense conversation. She strode quickly to them in time to hear Nikola speak.

"You can't really stop me. If you shoot here, you'll be mobbed and never get out of this house. And if you take your gun out of dear Mister Cleveland's back, I'll attack you myself and you'll have to shoot me, with the same result for you."

Helen realized Wexford was partly behind Cleveland with one hand on the big man's shoulder and the other out of sight behind him. He was furious at Tesla, and snarled, "Suit yourself, it's your funeral."

The President-elect moved out of the door with Wexford right next to him and Nikola trailing directly behind. Helen fell in next to her friend and whispered, "What's the plan?"

Nikola gave her a small smile and said quietly, "I have no idea. Do you?"

Helen just looked him in dismay as they went upstairs out of the crowd to private rooms. Wexford steered Cleveland into one and tried to close the door behind him but Nikola just bulled his way through with Helen on his heels. She closed the door behind her; no point in putting others in danger.

But the door opened again almost immediately and the small waiter came in and locked the door behind him. He was carrying an almost full bottle of champagne and one glass.

Wexford had Cleveland positioned next to a round table with himself a couple of feet away, his gun still trained on the President-elect. Nikola sidled over near Cleveland while the waiter put the glass on the table and filled it. Helen hung back, not sure what she could do to stop Wexford and his minion. The waiter stepped back and drew a gun as well.

"Now, Grover, drink it," Wexford said.

Cleveland frowned at the glass and at the overfamiliarity. "I assume it's poison. You might want to see a doctor, Mr. Tesla, when this is over since you already consumed what I suppose was also poison?"

"Stop talking and drink, or I start shooting."

"Shooting me would bring the club's security men and you wouldn't escape. I think that may be preferable to dying quietly while my murderer slips away."

"Oh, but we won't just shoot you, we'll shoot them as well."

Nikola glanced at Helen in alarm. He was close enough to Cleveland he might be able to intercede before a bullet reached the big man, but Helen was on his other side and too far for him to be able to protect her.

But the waiter gave her a little push toward the other two and she moved willingly next to Nikola.

Wexford added, "Just drink and we will leave them alive. All we need is a head start; we can simply lock them in and walk away."

Cleveland hesitated and then reached for the glass. Nikola beat him to it, grabbing it and downing it in one gulp.

He smiled and said, "Pretty nice flavor, for poison. This is my second glass with no ill effects. Wexford, I think your little friend has double-crossed you."

Wexford head swiveled to the waiter who looked back at him, shaking his head in denial. That moment was all Nikola needed. He vamped and vaulted the table, tossing his glass at the waiter.

Helen kicked the table over with one foot, grabbed Cleveland by his collar and kicked his legs with her other foot, overbalancing him and bringing him down to the floor on top of her.

Wexford's vision was filled by a vampire flying through the air at him, and he fired twice into Nikola before Tesla was on him. The waiter's first shot was at Nikola too, but he fired twice more, once where Cleveland had been standing and the second time at the figures on the floor partially obscured by the tipped over table. Then Nikola had him and it was over.

Helen and Cleveland struggled up. Neither had been hit, but Helen had the breath knocked out of her and at three hundred pounds it took the President-elect a while to get to his feet. Once up they stared at the two bodies with Tesla standing over them.

Nikola turned, still in vampire mode. His shirt front was a bloody mess, his eyes were red, and his claws were none too clean. His eyes met Helen's for just a moment and then he de-vamped and collapsed.

Magnus took charge. "Mr. Cleveland, you need to get out of here quickly. The President mustn't be associated with this. I'll take care of everything."

"But Mr. Tesla . . . he looked so odd. He saved me, I can't . . ."

"Don't worry," she said, propelling him toward the door with difficulty. "It was probably the poison and I'll see he gets the best of care." She grabbed the key from the waiter's body as she passed and pushed him out into the hall. "Go quickly."

Helen locked the door from the inside to give herself a little time. Nikola was faking, right?

"Nikola? He's gone, get up we have to get out of here."

Tesla stirred, but got to his feet slowly. He looked dazed.

"Are you all right? Even up here the shots will have been heard. Those two both have the guns, but no one will believe they shot each other. You were a bit messy."

Nikola mumbled, "Then it'll be a mystery. How do we . . ."

"It's too late to use the door; we'll have to go out the window. Can you manage both of us from this height?" she asked as she tugged him over to it. He was still moving sluggishly which worried her. She'd shot Nikola a few times herself, his usual recovery time was in seconds.

Helen pushed aside the drapes and opened the window. It was a straight drop to an alley—perfect. Someone rattled the knob of the door, and then started pounding on it and shouting.

"Come on, Nikola, vamp!"

He did, but she had never seen the transformation take so long. Nikola said, "I don't feel very well. That second glass . . ."

"Never mind now." Helen put her arms around his neck and lifted a leg. Tesla picked her up, put a leg over the sill, then the other, sitting in the window. The door behind them was starting to splinter when he eased off.

The landing was rough. Nikola hit on his feet, but instead of staying up he went down hard on his back, smacking his head on the pavement. Helen was jostled but not hurt. She got up and helped her strangely slow friend up as well. Tesla staggered a bit and she put his arm over her shoulder and headed toward the front of the building where the carriages were. With his jacket buttoned up over most of the blood he just looked drunk, which was fine, half the club membership would be leaving in that condition tonight. But Helen knew if Nikola was actually drunk he'd be bouncy and happy about it rather than barely able to move.

Helen got him to the front and had one of the attendants go fetch her carriage. Once she got him in the conveyance she didn't know where to take him. She had her hands full with her own people at her hotel.

"Nikola, where are you staying? Nikola?"

He was slumped back in his seat with his eyes closed. She shook him and got just a groan. A couple of light slaps made his eyes open blearily.

"Hotel? Are you at the Astor?"

"Gerlach three oh three," he mumbled.

"Girl lock? What does that mean? Nikola, come on, you have to stay with me a little longer."

Tesla roused a little. "Hotel Gerlach," he said, enunciating carefully. Helen gave the direction to the coachman, leaving it up to him to find it. He did, and they arrived shortly.

The hotel doorman helped her when he saw the state Tesla was in and together they got him in the elevator, into his room, and flopped on his bed. Helen scribbled a note to be delivered, gave the man a nice tip and closed the door behind him with relief.

But what does one do for a poisoned vampire? Helen had sent to Telmann to bring her medical bag, not sure if it would be of use. She turned Nikola on his side and tried to induce vomiting into a wastebasket, but achieved only dry retching. His metabolism was too fast, the poison was already in his system.

Helen did her best to make her friend comfortable. She took off his shoes and then hesitated. How much should she take off? Well, the suit would wrinkle and there was blood on it anyway, although the bullets apparently missed it and just wrecked Nikola's shirt. So that would have to go too, right?

She would leave him in his underwear, that wasn't really much less than a man's bathing costume, so he wouldn't mind that, would he? Although she'd never seen Nikola less than fully dressed before and felt very odd undressing him, half embarrassed and half excited.

The coat and tie came off easily enough, then cufflinks, studs, shirt. The undershirt was worse than the shirt, so that had to come off too, leaving Nikola bare-chested. The bullet wounds had healed, but there were still some smears of blood on his skin. She was surprised at the amount of muscle on his chest and arms, he was always so slim and elegant in his clothes she hadn't expected it.

Helen carefully removed Nikola's trousers, making sure not to pull down more than she intended. Even though she was a doctor, there were still some proprieties to be observed. His long pale legs ending in socks just looked silly, so the socks and garters went as well. His legs were nice too. Some men had skinny legs, but Nikola had well-muscled thighs and rounded calves. His body hair was fine and lighter colored than the dark hair on his head, another surprise.

She retrieved a wet cloth and a small towel from the bath, knelt down to clean him up, but hesitated again. This was ridiculous, she had treated males before, but looking at his nearly nude body . . .

Helen pulled herself together and gently washed Nikola's face, and then his chest, making sure she got all the blood off, but found herself washing his nipples more than they needed. She checked down his stomach to his undershorts, noticing the bulge where his . . . Well there wasn't any blood on his shorts, so she really didn't need to be examining them, did she.

She pulled her attention back to her job, wiping and drying his hands. She was a doctor, she reminded herself again, she knew what was inside Nikola's shorts; she didn't need to speculate. Helen took his pulse and found it reassuringly steady.

Her medical bag hadn't arrived yet so she had no stethoscope. She went old-fashioned and put her ear to his chest to hear his heart and lungs. He was warm, his skin smelled like . . . well nothing she could think of, just Nikola. Helen spent several minutes listening to the sounds of his body, even though everything seemed normal.

There was a light knock at the door and Helen found Aaron Telmann in the hall with her bag. She took it and had him come in. He looked far better than he had the last time she'd seen him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine, just a bad piece of fish I think. I'm sorry I couldn't be there tonight, did everything go well?"

Helen gave him the sad news about Ned while he helped her shift Nikola under the blankets. Then she gave him instructions about claiming the body and making arrangements, and getting O'Rourke out of jail. While she talked she wrote a letter, and when finished gave it to Telmann to deliver to Mr. Cleveland.

"This should ease his mind about Tesla and also ensure the conspirators that I chased off will be captured. I'm sure the President-elect of the United States will be able to energize the police to do their utmost. I'll be here for today at least if you need any advice."

Telmann replied, "I can take care of everything while you tend your patient. I'll check the sailing schedules for the next couple of weeks too and let you know so you can tell me what ship you want me to book passage on."

Helen sent him on his way, confidant he could handle his mission. Then she turned back to her friend, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully, although she knew that wasn't the case. She wished she had thought to have Aaron bring her suitcase as well, her false mustache was starting to itch but she didn't dare take it off. She had no theater glue to put it back on, and without it she wasn't sure she wouldn't be seen to be female. She certainly didn't want to start a scandal.

Nikola finally awoke near lunchtime. He was alert and looked around, then said, "I see you got me home. I don't really remember the trip."

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine, a little hungry, but nothing urgent." Nikola started to sit up but became aware he was shirtless and quickly pulled up the blankets to cover himself. Helen suppressed a smile; surely he knew she had undressed him, but he was a bit old-fashioned and was ignoring that embarrassing bit of information. She fetched him a dressing gown and he made her turn around while he donned it and a robe and slippers as well.

Helen sent for tea for both of them and snacks for herself. Seated at opposite sides of the room's small table, she said, "Thank you for your help last night; it was invaluable, I couldn't have pulled it off by myself."

"Any time, Helen, you can always call on me, you know that."

"Of course, but Nikola, why didn't you visit my Sanctuary when you were in England?"

"I had a very full schedule. I did try one day, but the gates were locked and no one answered the bell. I could have gotten in anyway, but I wasn't sure if you would be angry if I defeated your security."

She laughed. "No, at least not at you. I would rather you break into my house than go away without me seeing you."

Nikola gave her a meaningful look she didn't quite understand and said, "In the future I will do that. I don't suppose you can stay very long?"

"No, I've discovered the world is a bigger, more complex place than I ever imagined. I've started to plan for more Sanctuaries in various places around the globe. I think New York would be a good place for one, don't you?"

Nikola eyed her warily. "I suppose, North America is a big continent, there are surely quite a few abnormals. But what about the ones that Wexford wanted to hunt? They're thousands of miles from here."

"Yes, I'm considering a second on the west coast as well. But about the one in New York; I'll need someone I trust to run it. I think you would be an excellent head for it, Nikola."

He'd been sipping tea, but he put it down and thought for a moment. Nikola shook his head. "I can't, Helen. There are so many advances in science now, so much more for me to do. I can see great vistas of change ahead, and as fond of you as I am, I can't give that up. It's my life, just as abnormals are yours."

Helen set down her empty cup. "I understand, I rather thought that is what you would say, but I had to try. I need to get back to my hotel and get rid of this mustache and into my normal clothes." She stood up and picked up her bag. Being a gentleman, Nikola stood too.

"Will I see you again?"

"Not this trip. But we make a good team. I know we'll work together again someday.

He was between her and the door. "We do make a good team, and I look forward to that day. Um, well, good bye for now, then." He held out his hand awkwardly for her to shake, but she took it and pulled him into a loose hug instead.

"Good bye, Nikola," she said, and went out the door, leaving him alone in his room. But he was smiling.


End file.
